Dazed and Confused

Sometime in the next 24-36 hours, we will know whether we've bought that horrible house. My brain is all over the place. I have a ridiculous amount of work, but every time I try to write something, I start thinking 'Should I put in a feature wall with wallpaper in our bedroom or is that SO three years ago?'. Or 'I wonder if there is hot water in the laundry?'. Or - and this is the most persistent of the thoughts - 'Oh my god, are we going to DIE in the SUBURBS?'. It's a slippery slope - Kings Cross to Bondi Beach to Lilyfield to Hunters Hill ...

Hunters Hill is as posh as can be (Cate lives there, after all). The house that may soon be ours is at the completely non-posh end.

In my house dreams, I always imagined I'd move into an oldish house - my ideal would be a small Georgian manor, but there aren't many of those around, unfortunately. I love old houses and I had lots of pictures in my mind of how I'd do one up. I never thought I'd buy a hideous post-War thing with an even more hideous 70s extension on top of it.